


Don't You Dare

by TheUnknownKnight



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnknownKnight/pseuds/TheUnknownKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter knows that Wade can't die. But that's no excuse for the mercenary to go around blowing himself up, and Peter's got something to say about it. Spideypool bromance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't You Dare

"Peter? What’s wrong?"

Peter doesn’t respond to his aunt. His eyes are glued to their tiny TV located in the corner of the kitchen, grasping the remote so tightly that it begins to crack. The volume is on, but he can’t understand any of the sound coming from the staticky speaker. Someone explaining what’s going on. Police sirens. The sound of fire engulfing the building. Explosions. The chopping of helicopters. None of it makes sense, but Peter doesn’t care.

It’s that one detail that makes all the blood drain from his face. That one, stupid, idiotic, red little detail that leaves him feeling numb.

Deadpool.

Peter drops the remote, letting it shatter as it hits the linoleum floor. 

“Peter!” his aunt yells, startled and holding a towel to her chest.

He doesn’t think. He just moves. He’s running out the door at full speed, leaving his aunt yelling after him. He has no thoughts of concealing his identity, only thoughts of the idiot. He was probably the only one who even noticed him. Iron Man and the Captain were at the forefront, the main focus of the rescue. Peter just caught a glimpse of a black and red suit being flung through the air from the blast. But he knew what that meant. Deadpool’s damn hero complex. 

He’s at the center of the city in no time, still running at full-speed, sweat dripping down his back underneath his sweatshirt, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t care who sees. He doesn’t care what he looks like. He doesn’t care.

He approaches the site at a sprint. The police are wailing their sirens at full volume, ambulances flashing their lights over and over again, paramedics carrying the wounded away from the blast zone. The tall building is crumbling to the ground. Peter has no idea who did it. But he just doesn’t care right now. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Iron Man up at the top of the burning building, taking a child from a screaming woman and bringing him safely to the ground. The Captain barking orders at the police force and paramedics, who already have their hands full. No one notices Peter as he jumps over the hood of a police car and runs through the debris. The piles of brick and metal and glass point him in the right direction, away from the main chaos.

Point toward him.

Deadpool is in the process of crawling toward his right arm, which lies about five yards away. Peter sprints toward him, his arms pumping at his sides, his converse pounding against the pavement. The mercenary doesn’t look good. The bottom half of his left leg is barely hanging on to his thigh as he drags his body across the ground, leaving a thick trail of blood behind him, as if he were some kind of grotesque slug. Peter curses as he finally reaches the maimed man, kneeling on the ground next to him after grabbing his arm, trying to keep his stomach constant as he pulls Deadpool onto his lap, shoving the top of the arm into his shoulder. Deadpool lets out a grunt of pain as the bone reattaches itself, then the muscle, then the skin. His twisted skin is pale, more than usual. He’s lost so much blood. It’s a miracle he’s even still conscious, and by the way Deadpool’s eyes keep drifting closed then back open again from behind his mask, Peter can tell he’s holding on by a thread to the present.

“Dammit, Deadpool,” Peter curses harshly as he moves from the arm to the other man’s chest, where a deep wound cuts all the way into his ribcage. Peter rips off his jacket and presses it over the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. He can feel his eyes sting, and his glasses fog up. He curses again and casts them aside, focusing on pressing down on the mercenary’s chest.

A gash in Deadpool’s neck closes up, and he attempts to speak as his vocal chords sew themselves back together. “Who… Who are you?”

It’s then that Peter finally becomes aware of himself. He’s not in uniform, completely exposed to anyone who tears their eyes away from the rest of the chaos and looks their way. He also realizes that Deadpool has no idea who he is. He feels his heart hammer against his ribcage even harder, despite already being at its bursting point.

"It’s me," Peter says, and is shocked at how his voice quavers. "Spider-Man."

Deadpool’s eyes widen, and his breath hitches, this time not out of pain. “S… Spidey?”

"Yeah," Peter says, trying to give him a smile, but only manages a weak grin.

"Where’s your suit?" Deadpool asks.

"Excuse me if that wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when I saw your ass get blown sky-high," Peter says bitterly. He feels Deadpool’s chest push against his jacket, and he takes it away, allowing it to heal. Seeing the way Deadpool’s blood makes his uniform a whole other shade of red, how his body had barely kept itself attached, made anger rise up in Peter. "Dammit,Deadpool. You could’ve just killed yourself!”

"Yeah, but I didn’t," Deadpool points out. He’s still lying on top of Peter’s crossed legs, not yet finding the strength to rise, nor really wanting to move away from him. "Healing factor, remember? Plus, you gotta admit, I was pretty heroic—"

“Shut up!” Peter yells, making Deadpool freeze. He had seen Spider-Man frustrated before, even pissed, but nothing on this scale. Plus, the boy’s expression had always been hidden behind that mask. Now, his emotions were raw, painted on his face. “You shut the hell up. I get you’re practically immortal. But… Dammit, Dead…” Peter takes in a rough breath and lets it out sharply. “What if sometime you can’t just snap yourself back together again? It’s as good as dying. If you died I would go out of my freaking mind. Do you understand? Don’t you dare do that to me. Don’t you freaking dare.”

Deadpool is speechless. No one has ever shown this much anger toward him that wasn’t really at him, but for him. He could feel his world slow down. It didn’t matter than the building was burning, that people were panicking, that explosions were probably still going off, that Spidey was running the risk of revealing his identity to everyone. What mattered in that moment was that he was being held by someone who cared about him. Who actually, truly cared. Who actually gave two shits about whether he lived or died.  
Breaking the tense silence that had formed between them was like shattering a beautiful glass sculpture, but he had to do it. “What’s your name?” His voice cracked, despite having been completely healed.

Peter stared at him for a moment, as if that was the last thing he had expected him to say. Then it seemed strange, that he had these intense feelings for a man who didn’t even know his name. “Peter.”

Deadpool exhaled slowly at the sound. “Peter,” he said back, the smallest of smiles developing behind his mask. “I’m Wade.”

Then he found the strength to move. It hurt like hell, but he sat up slowly, with some assistance from Peter. When he was completely upright, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the smaller boy’s shoulders, pressing their chests firmly yet tenderly together. He took a couple of deep breaths, enjoying the sensation that developed through his core as Peter slowly wrapped his own arms around the other’s waist.

"I promise, Peter," Wade says, holding on to him strongly, "I will always put myself back together again. Always."


End file.
